


Casted Shadows

by dodds



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodds/pseuds/dodds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Drunk Victor and the Head Gamemaker from District Twelve. </p><p>The important and maybe less important that stood out in the relationship between Seneca Crane and Haymitch Abernathy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casted Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I do not in any way own the rights to The Hunger Games books/movies. No one would have survived apart from Seneca – who’d be President – and Haymitch – who’d be First Lady – if I did. Ehehe. This is purely fan made.
> 
> This story is NOT posted in chronological order. Otherwise the fun of weird things will be gone.  
> Includes: pre-50th Hunger Games, 50th Hunger Games, 72th Hunger Games – The Hunger Games, Catching Fires & Mockingjay.

The cigarette fell from the corner of my mouth, where it had been dangling since the Reaping had started. I hadn’t gone to the actual Reaping, but instead I had taken place in the shadow of some of the houses, just able to watch the Reaping happening on a screen in front of me. From the minute the escort – whatever her name was – had spoken the words “and now the boys” I had tensed up, forgetting the cigarette completely.

I had heard her long, Capitol fingers running through all the names, knowing Haymitch’s name was written on six different papers. Not as much as some of the others, but still too much. One too much to be exact. Haymitch should have been in that ball five times, one for every electable year. The sixth time wasn’t his fault, but mine. I was starving, I was on the verge of running away to the Capitol as I had planned and as I had told him. So he had decided to add his name once more, when he was fifteen, a year before the Quarter Quell, just for the tessera. Just to keep me here.

The second Quarter Quell would be a cruel one, with forty-eight instead of twenty-four competitors. Even more chance that Haymitch would be pulled out of the ball to compete. I hated myself for letting him do it, uttering the words ‘never again’ as I crouched between the houses.

The paper opened, so slowly I felt the urge to run on stage and snatch it out of her hands to open it myself. The female tributes had turned out to be Maysilee Donner and Julina Wooflung, both girls from the Seam – a girl of fifteen and one of sixteen. The first male tribute was a thirteen year old kid named Barius Gemtom.

“ _Haymitch Abernathy_.” My eyes closed and I made a noise of which I was not sure if it was a cry, a sob or just choking on my own saliva. As I stood up, I wobbled, my legs half limp from the shock. I crushed the cigarette under my foot as I tried to get my brain working again by stumbling around on six square feet. I saw adults’ heads turning towards me but I knew they wouldn’t turn me in. They probably didn’t even know who I was.

“Alright, son?” It was an older man, who was probably standing this close to me because he had been too slow to get closer. I looked at him, nodding slowly before I made my way to the place where I knew Haymitch would be taken to after the Reaping. From the corners of my eyes I could see him walking onto the stage, eyes going through the crowd to find a  familiar face. Not my face, he knew I wouldn’t be there. Her face, the face of his long time girlfriend to whom he was so committed that I didn’t even think of speaking my own thoughts.

There was a loud, unidentifiable noise that indicates the screens being turned off and my legs started running. My footsteps echoed in my ears as I sprinted, wanting to be there first. I needed to be there first or I wouldn’t have had the time to say anything. The bag of nightlock hit my thigh with every step I took, a plan forming in my head. I took it out, tossing half the berries in my hand.

*           *           *

“Mitch?” My voice was barely audible as I entered the room, the Peacekeeper eyeing me suspiciously. I spotted him sitting on the couch, the far end of the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest. It was visible that he wasn’t ready for it. I sat down on the complete other side, the berries slipping into my pocket again. His blue eyes stared straight into mine, bright but also confused.

“Neca,” he muttered to acknowledge my presence, a slight smile appearing on his face as I flinched at the idiotic nickname he kept using. He stretched his legs, his knees giving a soft pop. His hands fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. I took the chance of awkward silence to move over to the spot right next to him.

“I’m not ready, Neca,” he whispered, not even looking up at me. “Why me? I was in there _six_ times, there are guys with their name in it fifty times. _May the odds be ever in your favor._ Well, fuck it. The odds are not in my fucking favor right now. I’m from the Hob, I can’t even recognize blueberries from whatever shit there also is.” His head fell on my shoulder and I froze in the middle of whatever I was doing, not really sure what I should do.

“You know nightlock.” I took out the berries again, laying them in Haymitch’s hand. “I still have some of them. Don’t let anyone take your life if there’s no way out, keep the right to yourself.” His eyes met mine and and he nodded slowly, agreeing on what I had said. I glanced at my watch, too much time had been spend. His family owned more right to talking to him than I did.

“Stay alive?” I whispered, releasing his hand as I stood up to leave. I couldn’t even make it past the couch before he was there again, grabbing my wrist, turning me around with the force of a grown up man.

The kiss wasn’t nice or sweet, neither will I sugarcoat its meaning or even passionate it more. It was sloppy, ugly even and involved teeth smashing into each other like swords. It wasn’t even loving, it was desperation and pain of a decided fate. Neither of us closed our eyes, we more battled for that last bit of life power in each other.

It wasn’t the first kiss I had imagined us to share, but it was _good_ in some way. All anger left us through that one single kiss. When we parted, my forehead rested against his, heart pounding in my chest. We had crossed that border we shouldn’t have crossed, where friendship went to something with much more emotions.

“I promise, just for you. Don’t run away.” This kiss was less fierce, less angry but still put an emotional message in it that could torn people’s hearts apart. In some way it was gentle, his tongue running across my lips but not entering. His hands cupped my cheeks and he closed his eyes, almost begging me in the final second before they closed completely to do the same.

The kiss deepened as I let my head turn on its own, our noses nearly missing each other. His tongue brushed past mine and I could feel the withheld want for dominance in its movements. My hands landed on his waist, not pulling him closer but not pushing him away either.

We only parted when Haymitch needed to breathe. I didn’t open my eyes, didn’t want to open them because we had just done what I had hoped to avoid: showing any kind of emotion that went past friendship.

He hugged me, but not in a way of gentleness, more in a way of harsh love and stinging pain. Also as friends, not as lovers.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” The words slipped off my tongue easily, dripped in some kind of poison that made me run away from myself. I pushed him away and sprinted out off the room, bumping into Haymitch’s confused parents and girlfriend.

*           *           *

My fist hit the wall. Over and over and over again. My knuckles started bleeding after twenty times and I lost count when they turned into a mess I didn’t even want to look at anymore. I couldn’t stop, I just had to keep _going._ Had to keep punching that wall until blood painted vertical rains of sorrow on the ugly, brown bricks.

I fell into the grass close to my house, staring at the fence that would mean my escape. My lips still burned from the kiss, my heart working its way out of my chest all on itself. Not a single Peacekeeper would’ve been able to drag me from my place even though I wouldn’t have put up a single struggle, I just felt so heavy. Like gravity was pushing me into the earth.

“Seneca?” My father, the person I cared least about in the whole wide of Panem. “Seneca Cranevem, get the _hell_ inside, you lousy son of a bitch!” Something flew past my head but  I couldn’t even be bothered to pick it up or even check what it was as I dragged myself inside. It wasn’t even me, it was like a bag of potatoes I had to drag along. I had fallen all the way off the Earth and it just kept turning.

On and on and _fucking_ on.


End file.
